Chapter 23 Noah #2
He looks down at my hand, giving his gum a few extra chews, before he connects his hand with mine.
“Veronica’s son? Huh.” His eyes curiously scan me from head to toe. “Would you look at that?”
His grin is wide, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He grips my hand just a little too tight—holds it a second too long.
“No one told me you’d be such a looker,” he says, patting my shoulder like we’ve known each other for years. I bite back the instinct to flinch. Something about his energy is unsettling. I wish I could pin why. Friendly? Mocking? Threatening? I honestly don’t know.
“Been out of the picture a while, haven’t you?” he adds, chewing his gum slowly.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice tight. “I wonder why I’m just meeting you now.” My eyes narrow as I hold his gaze.
Kevin doesn’t respond right away. Just keeps chewing, eyes fixed on mine like he’s sizing me up.
Brad cuts in, clearly missing the tension between us.
“Be careful of this one, Kev, he bites,” Brad jokes, tossing me a glance that’s hotter than it should be. Just like that, my focus wavers.
“Kevin’s our Project Manager,” Brad adds, slipping back into professional mode. “Pops in now and again from the office, so you won’t see him often.”
I nod, eyes still flicking between the two of them.
“Me and this guy go way back. Known him since high school.” Brad grins.
Brad’s been friends with this guy for that long? They seem to have completely opposite personalities.
“Dang, that’s how long?” He takes off his hat and wipes his forehead before putting it back on his head.
“Yeah,” Brad laughs, folding his arms across his chest. "No matter where I go, you've always been right there, haven't you?"
“You can count on it." His stare doesn’t leave Brad’s. "I’ve seen this guy at every stage of his life. Believe it or not, this is the coolest one.” Kevin jokes.
Brad throws his head back laughing, thinking it’s the funniest joke ever.
I squint my eyes as I look at them chopping it up.
“You know my mom?” I ask Kevin, bringing their attention back to me.
Kevin blows out a long breath. “Well, of course. Veronica is only my best bud's lady. When he got with her, I was the first one to know about it,” he says, patting Brad on the shoulder. “Speaking of, how's the little one doing?”
“Little one's good, you’ve gotta come over for dinner soon, she’s doing the cutest thing…”
I choose to excuse myself from the conversation, leaving them to catch up. Instead, I join Terry, who is finishing up with cutting some boards. I focus on sweeping up the sawdust and making the area tidy, and try to ignore the twisted feeling I get when I see Brad’s attention on someone else.
Someone who isn’t me.
I look up from sweeping to sneak another peek at Brad, only to see Kevin watching me over his shoulder.
***
As the day winds down, the crew slowly filters out. Everyone says their goodbyes while Brad and I hang back.
I’m just finishing sweeping up the kitchen when he strolls in, setting some extra wood against the cabinets.
“You did good today,” he says simply.
I bite my lip looking down at the dust pile. I missed him saying that to me. “You think so?”
He nods his head, looking away. “Yeah…and uh, the guys really like you.” He massages the back of his neck with his hand.
My eyes fixate on the motion. “You sore?”
I slowly walk over to him, closing the distance.
“It’s nothing. Sometimes I get—” I wrap my hand around his neck the same place he had his before and start massaging in a circular motion with my fingers. “Tense.” He finishes. His eyes drop down to my lips.
His skin feels so soft under my fingertips. I forgot what it felt like to touch him. How much it makes my whole body vibrate. I can hear his breath hitch as he holds onto my forearm, as though he wants to push me away but can’t.
“Noah,” he mutters. Probably wants to tell me to stop. But, he doesn’t say that. Instead, his eyes flutter shut as a heavy breath escapes his mouth as he tilts his head to one side.
“Does it feel good?” I ask quietly, pressing harder.
“Mmm.” He licks his lips, and I move my other hand to the opposite side, massaging in slow, deliberate circles. I can’t believe he’s letting me touch him like this. Not after everything. Not with how hard he’s tried to shut me out. It feels like I’ve won the fucking lottery.
My heart knows it too, hammering inside my chest, loud enough I’m sure he can hear it.
“Why are you doing this to me?” he asks, so low I almost miss it.
Does he mean turning him on? Or does he mean something deeper than that?
Before I can even process what he means—
His hands are around my waist and I’m being shoved back against the counter.
“Shit,” I gasp, grabbing the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.
It’s rough. Sudden. Desperate. I don’t know if he wants to fight me or fuck me. Maybe a little of both.
I’m not opposed to either, as long as he’s touching me.
I part my legs, making room for his thigh, and when it brushes against my dick, I nearly lose it.
Yes, fuck yes.
I wonder what he’s thinking. If this means he’s forgiven me. Fuck, I hope so.
His hand slides under my jaw, tilting my head to the side. I stop breathing, ready to feel his lips—
But then the front door slams open.
We break apart instantly, fumbling to opposite sides of the kitchen.
“Sorry, forgot my water bottle—” One of the crew members, Nick, jogs in, oblivious. I grab the broom and sweep like nothing happened. Brad, conveniently turned to the corner, picks up the water bottle from beside him and hands it over.
“No worries. Here you go,” he says, voice rough, still not meeting Nick’s eyes.
“Thanks,” Nick says, awkwardly making his way out of the kitchen.
“See ya!” I call out after him.
Laughing it off, I turn towards Brad.
“That was close—”
“We should go,” he says quietly, still not looking at me.
My smile falls from my face. He’s in his head. Overthinking. It’s what he does.
“Nick didn’t see anything,” I say softly.
His back stiffens before he walks past me stiffly.
“There wasn’t anything to see,” he mutters, cold and distant as he heads for the door.
Great. Perfect. Back to hating me. Fucking amazing.
I follow him out to the truck and slide in, every bit of me noticing how hard he slams the door behind him.
Brad doesn’t look at me when he starts up the engine. Doesn’t speak. But I see it—the way his knuckles whiten around the steering wheel, like there’s something stuck in his throat he doesn’t know how to say.
“Noah, you can’t just…” He drags a hand down his face, like he’s trying to wipe the last ten minutes off with it. “We can’t… This is my job. You can’t just…walk in and—”
“And what, Brad?” I cut him off, sharp. I want him to say it. To stop dancing around it and finally admit what we both know has been simmering since I got back.
My eyes lock on him as I wait.
He doesn’t say anything. But I see it. The regret etched into the tight line of his jaw.
The panic that flickered across his face in the kitchen when he almost let himself go.
This isn’t about work. It’s about me. About his control slipping and us sliding right back to where we were in that tent out in the middle of the woods.
Yet again, he wants me…and hates himself for it.
Maybe he thinks I came here just to fuck everything up for him. Maybe part of me did. But I didn’t come here to ruin him.
He turns back to the windshield, jaw clenched. “Nothing.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Right. Of course. Nothing.” I snap my seatbelt into place with more force than necessary.
If he’s not ready to talk about it, then fine.
But I’m not done pulling it out of him. I’m just getting started.
I massage my calf absent-mindlessly as he reverses out of the driveway. My feet are sore and tired after standing on them all day. I don’t know how he manages to do this daily.
“You doing alright there?” he asks, eyes glancing at my hand. He can clearly see I’m in pain.
“Oh, just peachy,” I mumble.
“Looks like the day tired you out.” He smirks, making his way back home.
I look over at him, looking cocky as ever. Choosing to play dirty, I quickly tug on the back of my sweater's collar, pulling it up and over my head.
I breathe in, feeling the cool, crisp air hit my chest. I stretch out my arms, feeling free from the restraints of the heavy sweatshirt.
Looking over, I see Brad’s nervous glance looking back and forth from me to the road, his knuckles tightening around the steering wheel, yet again.
“Nothing I can’t handle. You okay though?” I ask, the corner of my mouth quirking up.
“Just peachy,” he mutters, shifting in his seat like his pants are suddenly too tight.